


Tokens

by FlutterFyre



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Episode: s01e09 Wolf's Bane, Frenemies, POV Stiles, Pre-Slash, Season 1, Why Derek why?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-28
Updated: 2013-11-28
Packaged: 2018-01-02 20:20:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,103
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1061190
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FlutterFyre/pseuds/FlutterFyre
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles' perspective on what happened the night Derek agreed to join Peter's pack.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tokens

**Author's Note:**

  * For [BootsnBlossoms](https://archiveofourown.org/users/BootsnBlossoms/gifts).



> A/N: This isn’t a prompt fill, just an attempt to answer what was for me an outstanding question from Season 1: Why, oh why, did Derek agree to join Peter’s pack? Have I found an answer? I’m not sure. This may require further investigation. ^_^
> 
> Originally posted on Tumblr, where I am [kissofflame](http://kissofflame.tumblr.com/).
> 
> This is for Boots as a great big thank you for luring me into this fandom!

Stiles shook his head as he entered the Long Term Care wing of the Beacon Hills Hospital. It was bad enough that he was missing his first – and quite probably his only – chance to be first line in a Lacrosse game, in the semi-finals to boot – but here he was stuck running down leads with ol’ sourwolf himself instead. Some days he was pretty much convinced that the universe hated him. 

He rubbed his aching forehead over his right eye from where his head had bounced off the steering wheel of his Jeep when Derek popped him for his earlier stunt. Yeah, he _did_ know why. All things considered, he was glad the werewolf had restrained himself and not hit him hard enough to injure, just to make the point that he hadn't appreciated being paraded shirtless in front of Danny that afternoon. Nevermind that showing a little skin and some cut wolfie muscles had almost instantly convinced the reformed hacker to determine the source of Allison's mysterious text, Stiles probably should have cleared that tactic with Derek before implementing it. It just had been so spur of the moment…

And to be honest Danny hadn't been the only one to appreciate the peek at Derek’s ink.

A corner of his mind clung to the memory as he crept down the corridor. Derek continued to freak him out and Stiles hadn’t forgotten any of Derek’s sometimes subtle and often rather direct threats on his health and wellbeing. All the same, he really didn’t resent being here chasing down a lead rather than at the game. Well, he didn’t resent it too much in any case. It was almost fun.

It was past visiting hours and Scott's mother didn't work in this section of the hospital, so he crept through the hallways, thankful that his chucks were well suited to moving silently. It was probably better if he didn't get caught sneaking around. Not that anyone catching him seemed very likely; the place was a freakin' ghost town.

He pulled up Derek's unlabeled number on his cell and hit Send. 

Typically, Derek didn't bother with pleasantries. "Well?"

"I can't find her." Stiles headed for the room number Derek had given him for his uncle only to stop in the doorway. The room was vacant and for a multi-year occupied room in a long term care facility, looked remarkably not lived in. He told Derek as much.

"Stiles, get out of there right now. It's him! He's the Alpha! Get out!" The unmistakable urgency in Derek's voice sparked a bloom of panic in Stiles' chest, right between his lungs. _Crap._ He lowered the phone without bothering to end the call.

A shadow to his left turned out to be a tall man dressed all in black with a harlequin mask of twisted scar tissue covering the right side of his face. "You must be Stiles."

Fear-based adrenaline melted away all lingering effects from the Adderall he had taken earlier and Stiles' mind raced into overdrive like Derek's Camaro. Turning, he came face to face with the missing nurse blocking his one path to freedom. He was trapped. _Holy crap, I'm gonna die._

From out of nowhere, Derek appeared, ruthlessly elbowing the creepy nurse in the face, knocking her out. Stiles had never been so happy to see anyone in his life. Maybe he wouldn’t die today. Focused on his uncle, Derek’s attention flickered to Stiles standing between the two werewolves.

“Get out of the way.”

Then again, as he was surrounded all Stiles could think was, _How the hell am I supposed to do that?_

“Oh damn,” he murmured as he sank to the floor and scooted back against the wall in an effort to make himself as small as possible. At five foot ten, that was no easy process. Derek’s eyes flashed an eerie blue and his fangs emerged as he growled and lunged for Peter; the elder Hale effortlessly tossed the younger man into the wall hard enough to crush the sheetrock. For someone recently in a coma, Peter was frighteningly strong, with lightening reflexes.

For all that Stiles had witnessed Scott perform some pretty amazing feats – usually on the Lacrosse field – since being bitten, it was clear that the Hales were in a league all their own. And puny human Stiles needed to get the hell out of Dodge. On all fours, he scrambled out from underfoot, unable to actually get his legs and feet to cooperate so that he could stand and run. He wasn’t really paying attention to where he was going until he nearly fell into the limp body of Peter’s nurse. It wasn’t clear if she was dead of merely unconscious and Stiles had no plans to stop and find out which. He just wanted to be somewhere – anywhere – else.

He could hear Peter and Derek behind him as he fled around the nearest corner, inhuman growls punctuated by grunts and fleshy thuds as fists connected with bodies and bodies impacted walls. Peter’s low voice spoke in a monotone, his words mostly indistinguishable from where Stiles hid; huddled behind some flimsy excuse for waiting room furniture.

He should leave, he knew he should – this was his chance to flee while Derek kept Peter the Psycho otherwise occupied but somehow he couldn’t bring himself to go. Glass shattered and Stiles wondered why absolutely no one had come to investigate the racket even as he prayed for the rest of the hospital to remain blissfully unaware of the battle raging on. God forbid any innocents arrive unexpectedly. They’d be slaughtered.

It was like the proverbial train wreck as over and over again Peter demonstrated his Alpha superiority over Derek as emphasized by the snap, crackle and pop of breaking bones. Stiles held his breath, halfway expecting to hear Derek concede to his crazy uncle but he just kept fighting. All the while Peter droned on louder now as he calmly, rationally even, explained in an increasingly eerie manner how he had spent the years since the fire – initially trapped inside his mind, inside his damaged body. He hadn’t meant to kill his niece – hadn’t intended to cut her in half and leave her in pieces in the woods as fodder for wild animals.

Stiles only just managed to contain his snort of disbelief.

The way the Alpha kept talking and talking, he seemed more in love with the sound of his own voice than Stiles had ever been. Must be a side effect of being trapped inside his own head all those years.

An odd slip-slide of sound prompted Stiles to peek around a corner to witness Derek just managing to drag himself through shattered slivers of glass in a futile effort to escape as his uncle, hardly winded stalked after him.

Crap, was Peter going to kill Derek? Surely not. Hadn’t Derek told Scott the Alpha was seeking to build a pack? It wasn’t like there just happened to be a lot of werewolves in Beacon Hills. At least Stiles didn’t think there were any other wolves in the area apart from Peter, Derek and Scott. Unless of course, Peter had bitten someone else; something which wouldn’t have surprised Stiles in the least, given Peter’s track record.

Unable to keep away, Stiles crept forward, following the two werewolves, only stopping just out before he reached the open doorway. For half a moment, he mentally castigated himself for not getting while the going was good. While he was at it, he told himself he should have left Derek to his own devices and gone to the game – he had just blown a chance at first line in the semi-finals of all things! Then he reminded himself that it was partly his fault that Derek was a wanted fugitive and therefore had been unable to show his face in public. 

The thing was, Stiles couldn't just abandon Derek here to possibly die at Peter’s hands, however unlikely and illogical Derek's death would be. Peter's thought processes were about as far from Spock's as was possible. At the same time, Stiles had no clue what he could do to help. _Think, Stiles, think!_

Peering through the doorway, he could see Peter’s ruined profile in the reflection of a glass ruined profile in the reflection of a glass cabinet door. The Alpha’s voice continued for a moment before he finally fell silent. In stunned amazement, Stiles watched as the devastated skin on Peter’s face smoothed and reformed, scars flowing like water, dissolving and disappearing until the horrifying mask was gone and an undeniably handsome and flawless visage remained.

Stiles gasped and pulled back, smacking his forehead with a clinched fist at his careless indiscretion. Pointlessly he held his breath, straining to hear Peter’s next words.

“…After all, we’re family.” Pause. “And I’d hate to have to take out my anger at your rejection on that weak and defenseless boy out there.”

As if to prove his point, Peter was suddenly _there_ , blocking whatever remote chance Stiles might have had for escape. Stiles cringed as long fingers wrapped around his throat, fully expecting to feel claws biting into his skin at any moment.

Instead all he felt was the slow but steady increase of pressure against his windpipe, gradually cutting off his ability to draw breath. Instinctively, his hands flew up to clawing and batting at the hand that was now dragging him into the room where Derek was. With no seeming effort, Peter raised his arm, lifting Stiles off the floor to hang, limply displayed before the younger werewolf. All Stiles could see was the harsh stoic expression on his frenemy’s face as he watched Peter manhandling Stiles. With eyes that briefly glowed that unmistakable bright blue Stiles had only ever seen on one werewolf, Derek even met Stiles’ eyes for a moment before his gaze lowered and slid away as he shrugged slightly.

“He’s a pain in my ass anyway.”

Stiles flinched at the casual dismissal but Peter just laughed. 

“My dear nephew, surely you don’t expect me to believe that after you rode to his rescue earlier?” He did, however, lower his arm just enough for the toes of Stiles’ sneakers to scrabble at the industrial tile floor.

Derek’s mouth twisted in a disdaining sneer and he looked at the older man; his eyes once more brown and very human-looking. “I don’t care what you believe, Uncle. You know I’m not lying. Earlier I felt responsible for bring him here but now? Clearly he was too stupid to take advantage of the chance I gave him to flee. No longer my problem.” He wiped the trickle of blood from his nose and mouth before scrubbing his hand against his pants leg.

“Go ahead. Put him out of my misery. It won’t change the fact that you are right about one thing – we _are_ family – the only family either of us has left.

“If we’re going to avenge the others, we’ll have to work together.”

The vise-like grip of the Alpha’s fingers loosened and the encroaching darkness began to recede. Peter opened his hand, releasing Stiles to crumple to the floor where he immediately curled into the fetal position, praying for the ground to open beneath him so that he might just disappear. Gasping, still trying to return his body’s oxygen levels to something resembling normal, he was only slightly cognizant of Peter stepping over him to reach out and offer Derek a hand up from the floor.

Derek’s voice as he accepted the assist was a barely heard murmur acknowledging Peter’s position and authority, “Alpha.”

“Your Alpha,” the older man prompted.

“My Alpha,” Derek conceded as he gained his feet.

“Very good,” the Alpha purred and Stiles wondered how it was that a wolf could purr.

“Come.” Peter once more stepped over Stiles’ huddled form, avoiding him as if he were a bug that might sully the Alpha’s shoe, before proceeding to sweep out of the room, apparently oblivious to the destruction in his wake.

Derek followed more slowly, pausing to look down at the weak and pathetic human curled in on himself.

Stiles glared up at the traitorous werewolf, trying to convey even a fraction of the loathing he felt as he tried to convince his voice and body to cooperate once more so that he could actually lash out verbally or physically or somehow.

With a small smirk, he nudged Stiles in the ribs with one steel-toed boot.

“Stupid boy, you should have fled when you had the chance.”

He had to find Scott. They were so fucked.

~~fin~~

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: Yes, I did use some dialogue from the Wolf's Bane episode but I didn't repeat it all word for word as I really just wanted to peek into Stiles’ head and maybe get a clue regarding what happened that night before Derek and Peter met up with Scott in the locker room after the semifinals game. If you recognize the dialog, I probably didn’t write it.
> 
> I welcome podficcing of any of my stories with a request to let me know so I may squee over your efforts and a caveat that the work be linked back to my posted work. Many thanks and kind regards.


End file.
